Sole Survivor
by Twilight Fang
Summary: (Slash) Russell Varon / Tom Underlay This is an AU fic that starts right at the beginning of the Invasion storyline. Russell is present when Tom is pulled from the water after his plane crash, and every other day after that. Eventually, his curiosity develops into something much deeper.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note:** **I know that I've already got an Invasion fic in progress, but I can't control my ideas. If I have a million of them running rampant at the same time, I have to give them all equal attention. Their rules, not mine.**

 **So, this is an AU fic - a what if Russell had interacted more with Tom after the plane crash?**

* * *

 **Day 1**

What was the sense of having public holidays if you were still obligated to work on them? Russell Varon, one of many Everglades National Park Rangers who had been summoned to work in the middle of the evening, was left wondering if he would be sufficiently compensated for the inconvenience. He had been in the middle of eating his dinner, which had been left out on the table for him to microwave, when he'd gotten the call. Some sort of emergency down by the cove. Whatever the emergency, couldn't it have waited until tomorrow?

When Russell reached the Glades, he found that a very large area had been cordoned off with yellow tape. He could barely get past the media circus that was milling about the outskirts of the restricted area. There were local news vans, reporters, cameramen, and several busybodies who had probably picked up the news on their CB radios. Well, they were one step ahead of Russell, because he didn't know what the hell the emergency was in the first place.

As Russell drove his pickup truck over to a break in the yellow tape that was being manned by one of his coworkers, he caught sight of an ambulance parked up ahead, right on the edge of the cove. Its sirens were off but the back doors were open. Faster than Russell could blink, a group of medics pushed through the tall grass growing in and around the water, carrying a stretcher hastily back to the ambulance. Russell couldn't see much for the number of bodies blocking his view. The only thing he could make out was that the person they had pulled out of the water was a male, bundled up in blankets and fitted with an oxygen mask. Before he could get a closer look, one of the medics secured the ambulance doors, knocked on the side of the vehicle, and it was off.

"You hear what happened?" Ernie Thompson, the ranger in charge of holding back the press asked Russell as he rolled down his window.

"No. What happened?" Russell peered out the windshield, curious about all the unmarked black vans in the area.

"Commercial plane went down. Over a hundred passengers were killed instantly on impact."

"Shit," Russell said softly, now knowing why the air smelled like someone had been barbecuing toxic materials. Suddenly, working late on a holiday didn't seem like such an inconvenience to him. "But, didn't they just pull someone out of the water?"

"That's the thing. The plane went down yesterday. They were dredging for bodies for the past twenty-four hours. No survivors. But then they find this guy… intact… trapped inside an air pocket or something. Freaking weird shit."

"Why didn't I get a call yesterday? I could've come in."

"Some government officials were the first on the scene. They wouldn't let anyone but the rescue workers in here until this afternoon."

That was peculiar. "Why not?"

"Not sure. Maybe they were checking to make sure it wasn't an act of terrorism."

Russell watched the ambulance disappear in his rearview mirror before focusing on the task at hand. "Okay, so what am I here for?"

"You're not going to like it. We're going to help them clear the wreckage. And let me tell you, there's a hell of a lot of it!"

* * *

 **Please review and let me know what you think of Day 1! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Day 2**

"Mariel!" Russell hollered into the seemingly vacant house the second he crossed the threshold. "Jesse!" He nearly tripped over the rolled up newspaper that someone had carelessly left on the floor by the entrance as he flicked on the light switch. "Is anyone home?"

Why would anyone be home? It was only 10 a.m. on a Saturday. Most families would probably still be in bed around now. Or up and watching TV together. The ideal all-American family wouldn't waste a perfectly good sunny Saturday morning moping around the house. No. They would already be up and on their way to one of the major theme parks, or maybe a go-kart track for an exciting day of family togetherness. But not Russell's family. He'd been working for more than fourteen hours straight, hefting around wreckage from that downed airplane fuselage, drenched in sweat and smelling like gasoline and burnt animal hairs. And what did he have to come home to? An empty house, leftover takeout from some fast food joint he'd never heard of, and a stupid newspaper.

"I don't know why I bother to pay for a newspaper subscription when nobody reads the damn thing," he muttered to himself, tossing his keys onto the kitchen countertop and yanking open the fridge door. He helped himself to the last can of beer and took it over to the kitchen table, along with the leftover takeout container that nobody had remembered to refrigerate. No big deal. His _wife_ was a nurse down at Homestead Memorial Regional Hospital, so if he got food poisoning and needed to be rushed to the emergency room he would probably get preferential treatment.

But where was his wife now? And where was his son for that matter?

Russell dumped his cell phone onto the tabletop, unrolled the newspaper, and flipped open the lid of the takeout container. Oh great! Fried rice minus all the pork, the fatty ends of black bean beef, and remnants of spring rolls. Basically whatever hadn't been good enough for Mariel or Jesse to eat. You knew your marriage was doomed when your wife started to feed you the scraps that nobody else wanted to eat.

Chewing listlessly on deep fried batter, Russell checked his email messages on his cell phone next. There it was. A short one-liner from Mariel.

 _8:25 a.m. Took Jesse into town for a new backpack_

What? No, how was your day? How many dead body parts did you accidentally touch or trip over? Are you still alive?

Russell doubted Mariel even knew where he'd spent the night, or that she even cared. They fought so much nowadays that the distance might actually be a good thing.

Russell cracked open the beer, took a large swig of it to wash down the dry rice, and flattened out the newspaper. The headline immediately caught his attention. _Sole survivor in critical condition._ There was a large snapshot of the plane wreckage and the full square mile that it covered. At the bottom of the article was a small black and white photo of a young man wearing a military uniform. Crisp, clean-cut, and posture as rigid as a plank.

"Major Tom Underlay," Russell read aloud, skimming the article before his gaze drifted back down to the photo. Nothing about Major Tom Underlay really stood out or was worth noting, so Russell folded the page over to read the continuation of the story on the next page. One particularly troubling sentence caught his attention. _Wife dies in crash._ Frowning, Russell turned the paper back over to give Tom's headshot one final appraisal. "Poor bastard," he said sympathetically before rolling the newspaper back up, taking aim at the recycle bin in the corner of the kitchen, and launching the paper and Major Tom Underlay's tragic story into it.

* * *

 **And so Day 2 ends.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Day 4**

Russell toweled off his short, dark hair as he stepped out of the shower. He'd been in there for the better part of the last half hour, trying to rinse the soapy suds off of his body with zero water pressure. The water flow was now down to a trickle, leaving him with no choice but to make the decision to call a plumber. He'd installed the pipes himself and connected the running water to the local water supply. Inviting repairmen into the house that he'd built himself was like a blow to the ego. But he was still working all hours on clearing his beloved Glades of airplane parts, so he didn't have the time to fix the water himself. Besides, he didn't want to hear Mariel complaining about it when he got home from work later on.

Not bothering to shave, because regardless of how often he did it always grew back in within hours, Russell got dressed and left home.

Before work, he had to make a stop off at the hospital. He'd been requested to work overtime – again – with absolutely no notice, but it was his turn to pick up Jesse after school. Mariel always turned her cell phone off at work, so there was no way of reaching her to ask if she could pick their son up instead.

Mariel was an incredibly gifted nurse who loved her job and her patients. She'd already been promoted twice and was moving up the ladder at a remarkable speed. If they were to have a competition over who worked more overtime, Mariel would most definitely win. Whenever Russell visited her at the hospital, which was seldom nowadays, it was like hunting down an elusive deer in the forest. Just when he thought he was getting close to finding her, she would move off to hide behind another bush or tree. He didn't think it was intentional, but the game of hide and seek irritated him nonetheless.

The hospital staff were familiar with Russell so they let him roam around the hallways unchallenged. Nobody asked if he needed assistance down by the front desk. And no one told him off when he began to pop his head into random rooms with open doors, apologizing once when he caught an elderly woman with her gown open down the back.

As Russell turned a corner and trudged down another long, pastel pink hallway, he came upon a section of the hospital that was buzzing with activity. He was in the intensive care unit, where the seriously ill or injured patients were cared for.

One room – the large corner room with the two observation windows that was facing the reception area – was surrounded by all sorts of interesting characters. On-duty deputies from the sheriff's department, a smartly dressed woman who could have been a lawyer, two men wearing matching navy blue jackets and navy blue slacks, and a handful of nurses who were being shadowed by a creepy looking doctor. Russell had run into the aging Dr. Feld on more than one occasion, but had never had reason to speak to him. He wasn't a doctor known for his bedside manner. All the spectators had one thing in common – they had their full attention on whoever was inside that room. Some of them were being subtle about it, only glancing now and then, but most of them were just staring in rapt fascination. Judging by their expressions, one might think that they were waiting for a new exhibit to open at the zoo.

"What's in room number one?" Russell asked conversationally, not looking at anyone in particular. He didn't have to wait long before one of the nurses answered in a low whisper.

"Tom Underlay."

Homestead was a small town with a low population, so most people knew each other well enough that a name would suffice. It wasn't necessary to add _that man who survived the plane crash_. Everyone knew who Tom Underlay was and what he represented. He was Homestead's little miracle, the church's emissary, and the hospital's hero? That would explain why everyone was gawking at him.

Russell squeezed between two of the nurses to press up against the observation window, looking into the brightly lit room with all its equipment and machinery. He couldn't really see the patient for all the obstructions blocking his line of sight. Tom was hooked up to a nasal cannula, which was supplying him with supplemental oxygen, an IV drip, and several monitoring devices that left wires trailing out of his hospital gown. From Russell's vantage point, he could see tremulous movement from Tom's right arm.

"He's regained consciousness," Dr. Feld said perfunctorily to one of the nurses. "Go in there and sedate him again."

Sedate him? _Again_? Why the hell would they need to sedate Tom Underlay? He was barely capable of lifting his arm, never mind causing the hospital staff any trouble by pulling wires loose or becoming violent. Russell narrowed his eyes at the doctor's back, wanting to question this man's medical expertise. But all he could do was watch as one of the nurses entered the room and flicked on a blindingly intense overhead light.

On the bed, Tom reacted to the light, trying to raise his arm defensively against it. What purpose did that light serve except to throw Tom off balance? Weren't hospitals supposed to make their patients feel comfortable and at ease, not mimic the environment of an interrogation room?

Russell could see Tom's face now, albeit unclearly, as the brunette pleaded with the nurse. He was asking for something, his blue eyes slightly dazed but frightened looking. Who wouldn't be frightened if they woke up after having survived a plane crash only to find themselves on display like an alien in a dissection tank? Much to Russell's dismay, instead of answering Tom's repeated question, the nurse connected a syringe into the IV access device, and injected the sedative without hesitation. Tom reacted nearly instantly, sinking back into the mattress as his eyelids fluttered shut against his will.

Russell pushed away from the observation window feeling like a dirty pervert for having witnessed such a cruel act. The two men in the navy blue jackets were studying Tom's unconscious form with mild detachment, while some of the nurses were giggling. Tom wasn't being treated like a patient, he was being tormented like a potentially dangerous animal.

As Russell dragged himself away from the intensive care unit, he heard the doctor ask the nurse about what words had been exchanged inside the room.

"He was asking for his wife again, but I didn't answer him," the nurse replied unemotionally.

"That's all he said?"

"I asked him where he was. He knew he was in Homestead, but he didn't know the date."

"That's to be expected considering how he was unconscious during the first three days, although we still haven't been able to determine if he was conscious at any point in time between the crash and his rescue."

Unconscious for three days and sedated throughout the fourth. Russell couldn't help but feel sorry for Tom Underlay and disgusted at the hospital staff for treating him like a prisoner.

* * *

 **Feedback is always loved and appreciated! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Day 6**

Russell had spent most of Tuesday decontaminating the same section of the Glades that he had been working on since Friday. Removing foreign debris and taking water and soil samples. For some odd reason, the military refused to lift the quarantine on the park itself, despite the fact that the crash site was still cordoned off and limited to that one mile radius. All the missing passengers had been found, or what remained of them, and their bodies were being released to their next of kin following an autopsy.

So why was Russell back at the hospital after a twelve-hour shift, having skipped dinner in order to get there before visiting hours were over?

Russell had been on his way home when he'd tuned into the local news station on his radio, listening to the announcement on Tom Underlay. Apparently, as of a few hours ago, Tom had been upgraded to stable condition and was now in a private room where he could receive visitors. Even though Russell knew that visiting a total stranger in the hospital was a bizarre way to make a new friend, he felt compelled to see how Tom was doing. He still hadn't been able to shake his concern over the way Tom had been treated the other day, so maybe this was his way of alleviating his own guilt over not having reported what he'd perceived as misconduct.

As Russell entered the hospital through the main entrance, trying to be subtle as he passed by the front desk, he ran into one of Mariel's coworkers.

"Russell!" Jody exclaimed, looking surprised to see him. "Mariel left over an hour ago."

"Yeah… I know."

"Oh…you're here to visit someone?" Even if that hadn't been Jody's logical conclusion, the small plant that Russell was carrying in his hands was evidence enough.

"Yeah, could you tell me what room Tom Underlay is in?"

Jody raised an eyebrow at that but answered without bothering to check. "He's in the private wing, last room on the left. But you'll need to sign in."

Russell sheepishly accepted the clipboard from Jody and filled in his information.

 **Visitor: Russell Varon**

 **Patient: Tom Underlay**

 **Time In: 5:45**

Russell felt awfully foolish as he made his way to the room that Jody had indicated. He didn't know what to expect. What was Tom Underlay like? How would he react to receiving a visitor whom he'd never met before? Would he even be conscious?

As soon as he reached the room, he knew that something was still not right. This room was closed off completely with glass windows and glass doors. There was no privacy whatsoever. It looked like Tom was still being treated like a lab specimen while being segregated from the rest of the patients, implying that he might be a threat or be carrying a lethal disease. That was just nonsense, because there were no lethal diseases in the glades that Tom could have been exposed to.

Russell looked inside to see that Tom was lying on his side with his back facing the door. Taking a deep breath to quell his nervousness, Russell lightly rapped on the door and entered.

"Hi, Mr. Underlay," he called out cautiously as he approached the bed.

Tom stirred, slowly turning over so that he could face Russell. In that moment, Russell knew that he had made a terrible mistake. Tom was not some tough looking army type with a crew cut and chiseled features, like he had imagined. He was slender with high cheekbones, piercing big blue eyes, and light brown wavy hair. Although he looked deathly pale and weak, he was still real easy on the eyes. But for Russell, he was absolutely gorgeous. And it didn't matter that Tom was dressed in the most unflattering hospital gown, or that he still looked like he was on death row, hooked up to various machines that were monitoring his vital signs. At least he no longer required the supplemental oxygen and appeared to be lucid.

How could he be thinking of how attractive Tom was at a time like this? Russell forced himself to remain as detached as possible, reminding himself that he was just there to visit and show moral support. After all, Tom had just lost his wife, for crying out loud! Russell was above hitting on a recently widowed man in the hospital. Or at least he would like to think that he was.

"Hello…?" Tom gazed up at Russell in confusion, having difficulty focusing. His voice was soft and scratchy, perhaps evidence of neglect. There was a water pitcher and glass on a table at the far end of the bed, but if Tom was still immobile he wouldn't be getting it by himself anytime soon.

"I'm Russell. Russell Varon." He tried to muster up the courage to put the plant down and get it out of the way, but he just stood there like an idiot, not knowing what he should do next.

"Russell…," Tom repeated curiously. "You're one of the park rangers. Were you the one who pulled me out of the water?" He smiled warmly up at Russell – a beautiful smile full of hope and positivity.

Russell hadn't had any time to change before coming over, so it was no wonder that Tom had been able to identify him by his ranger jacket and badge. "Um… no. I wasn't brought in until after you were pulled from the water. But I was there." That sure explained a lot! If he hadn't been one of the men who had rescued Tom, and if he wasn't a friend or family member, he really had no right being there. Needing something to cover up his awkwardness, Russell quickly set the plant down on the bedside table. When Tom pushed himself up on the pillows to try to see the plant, Russell hurried over to help him. He propped up the pillows and was about to back off when Tom grabbed his forearm to use as leverage so that he could sit up properly. Tom's grip was weak and his fingers cool, and after he managed to settle himself against the pillows he was out of breath. Without thinking, Russell retrieved the glass at the end of the bed, filled it with water, and held it out to Tom.

"Thank you," Tom gasped, sipping gratefully at the water that he hadn't been able to get to by himself.

"There's a call button here, if you need anything," Russell said kindly, lifting the device up so that Tom could see it.

Tom's expression suddenly darkened, became frightened and suspicious. "Please don't press that."

"Why not?" But even as the words left Russell's lips he knew the reason why not.

"They keep sedating me for some reason. And when I wake up… I feel really nauseated and dizzy." Tom had obviously learnt his lesson. The call button now equaled sedation in his mind.

Russell dropped the device back onto the bed and tried to keep the anger out of his eyes. He would definitely need to bring this issue up with Mariel later on. There would be hell to pay if the physician in charge – who else could it be but Dr. Feld? - was acting inappropriately with his wild misuse of that sedative.

"Mr. Underlay…"

"Tom," the brunette corrected him.

"Tom," Russell began again, liking the way the name sounded. It was a simple name for what appeared to be a highly complex man. "I'm really sorry about your loss…" As he trailed off, he suddenly panicked. Had Tom been told about the death of his wife? What if he hadn't?! Russell didn't want to be the one to have to explain to Tom that he was now alone and without a life partner. Or to bring up the obligation that Tom now had of having to handle his wife's upsetting funeral arrangements.

But the flicker of raw emotion that passed through Tom's eyes and the way he bowed his head, accepting Russell's condolences but not saying a word to them, was a clear indication that he was aware of his mournful predicament.

"Can I get you anything? Something to eat? Maybe a sandwich from the cafeteria?" Anything to change the subject and get out of the dreadful mire that the atmosphere had been sucked into.

"Thanks for offering, but I'm not allowed to eat anything just yet."

"The doctor told you that?" That was one way to keep the patient docile and cooperative. By keeping Tom sedated and having him reliant on the IV drip for his sustenance, Dr. Feld was effectively neutralizing whatever threat he thought his patient posed.

Tom shrugged, or at least attempted to, before returning his attention to the plant. "Is this for me?"

"Yeah. I hope that's not strange or anything." Because there weren't any other flowers anywhere in the room. No get well soon cards. No balloons. No evidence that anyone cared about Tom Underlay's existence, never mind his miraculous survival. "It's a wild petunia," he explained as Tom gazed at the small plant that had one tiny violet flower hanging over the edge of the glass container he'd planted it in. "We have a lot of them in the Glades."

"That was very thoughtful of you, Russell. Thank you."

Before Tom could notice the color in his cheeks, Russell straightened up and began to eye the door. Visiting hours were almost up and he would rather surreptitiously leave the building than have one of the nurses come in to remind him of the time. "Well, I just thought that I'd come by… because…" Why the hell had he decided to come by? Maybe he should have thought up a proper excuse before he'd laid eyes on Tom Underlay because just being in that man's presence made it hard to think.

"I'm sure you had your reasons," Tom offered, his tone sounding a bit mysterious. "Everything happens for a reason… doesn't it?" When he looked to Russell for confirmation, all Russell could do was nod.

"Uh… see you tomorrow then," Russell blurted out as he headed for the exit.

"You're going to come tomorrow, too?"

Had he really said that? Well that didn't sound _too_ presumptuous. Perhaps he hadn't meant to say it out loud, but he knew that he absolutely needed to see Tom again. "If that's okay with you?" He glanced back to check Tom's reaction and was completely shocked to see that the brunette was blushing. Actually, genuinely, blushing. Although Tom didn't meet his gaze or answer, Russell knew that he was more than welcome to come for another visit. "Take care, Tom," he called out, feeling like a cocky school kid who had just scored a date with the hottest girl in class. Or boy. Whatever.

* * *

 **Imagine that for every comment you leave, you accumulate celestial stars. Wouldn't that be awesome? So, for every 8 comments you leave, you can have your own solar system! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: You may or may not have noticed this, but as the days become more interesting, the chapters become much much longer! Just wanted to point that out for no reason whatsoever.**

* * *

 **Day 7**

Russell was up early and parked outside the hospital a couple of minutes before visiting hours started. He was working the late shift today and wouldn't need to report to work until the afternoon. So he had dressed casually in a pair of faded blue jeans and a beige t-shirt. Because it was warm outside. And he tended to lack an imagination when it came to his wardrobe choices, keeping his clothes practical and outdoor friendly. Not because he wanted to show off his muscular arms and chest to Tom Underlay. Or maybe he did want to, just a little. Judging by the vibes he'd been getting from Tom yesterday, the brunette was definitely into him. This was just giving him some incentive to stay interested.

After he'd gotten back from the hospital last night, he'd actively engaged Mariel in a conversation. The conversation that she'd been wanting to have for the past few months, but every time it had come up Russell had blown her off. Last night he had let her complain and then cry about how unhappy she was in their relationship. She had even revealed the startling fact that she had fulfilled all the requirements necessary for becoming a doctor, having received her doctor of medicine degree a month ago – further proof that Russell was either a lousy husband or they were completely out-of-sync and incompatible – and was apprenticing under Dr. Feld. So his wife was now _Dr._ Varon and everyone but her own husband had congratulated her on that amazing achievement. Talk about feeling like an oblivious asshole.

Mariel had gone on to tell Russell that she didn't hate him. No, she just didn't love him anymore and she wanted out. During her previous attempts at bringing up the topic of divorce, Russell had shut her down and suggested marriage counseling with Father Scanlon at the church. Because it was absolutely scandalous for a couple from a small town like Homestead to petition for a divorce. Then he'd told her to think about their son Jesse and how splitting up would affect him. But last night instead of guilt tripping her, he had surprised himself by admitting that he was unhappy too, and yes, a divorce would be in the best interest of both parties.

At the end of their conversation, Mariel had looked relieved and the rest of the night they had spent together watching TV with Jesse and playing board games. It was like a crushing weight had been lifted from their shoulders and they were now free to go about their lives as they each – individually – saw fit. Wrapped up in the discussion of how they would go about getting a divorce was the agreement that they were now free to see other people. And Russell hoped that the 'other people' could possibly include Tom Underlay.

Checking his black sports watch again, Russell saw that visiting hours would start in two minutes. Picking up the paper bag that was sitting on the passenger's side seat, he got out of his jeep and strolled up to the hospital in high spirits.

When Russell neared Tom's room, he noticed that the door was ajar and a nurse was waiting outside. As he got closer, he spotted the least compassionate doctor in the entire hospital – Dr. Feld – inside Tom's room. The morbid looking doctor was leaning over Tom with a rubber tourniquet and a syringe in one hand and dangling a set of restraints threateningly with the other. Tom had retreated as far back against the opposite bedrail as he could get, keeping both arms out of reach of the sinister looking doctor. _What the hell?_ Russell strode into the room and immediately felt a set of intense blue eyes lock onto him.

"Russell!" Tom anxiously called out in greeting, though it was probably more for Dr. Feld's benefit than for Russell's.

"What's going on here?" Russell addressed the doctor, hoping that the man had a good explanation for those restraints.

Dr. Feld whirled around to glare at Russell, his small beady eyes magnified behind his thick, old fashioned spectacles. "I'm currently with this patient, so you are going to have to come back later."

Russell brushed past Dr. Feld to sit in the chair by Tom's bed, making himself look as formidable as he possibly could by crossing his arms over his chest and glaring back. "So I'll wait," he said rudely, accustomed to dealing with jerks like Dr. Feld all the time. Uncaring cretins like Dr. Feld who trampled on the local fauna inside the glades and had the audacity to try to take home wild opossums as pets. The one thing they had in common was that their own selfish desires took precedence over the comfort or wellbeing of the weak creatures that they preyed on. "Unless there's a problem here that I should know about…?"

Without hesitation, Tom pointed out a very serious problem. "He wants another blood sample. He already took one today – an hour ago - four yesterday, and four the day before that." Tom looked up at Russell imploringly, appearing dreadfully pale. "If he takes one more blood sample, I'm going to pass out or throw up." Usually patients might say that as an exaggeration, but Tom sounded entirely sincere.

 _Four_ blood samples in a day?! Russell was beginning to think that Dr. Feld was begging to have his medical license revoked.

"Now, you listen here, Mr. Underlay, these blood samples are necessary in order to give you an accurate prognosis. It is not up to you to decide how many you are able to tolerate in a day."

"Hold on a minute, is he getting adequate fluid replacement for you to be taking so much blood? I noticed that nobody is ensuring he remains hydrated and he's not being given regular meals." And the IV had been taken out, which made the situation even more disturbing. Russell stood up again when Dr. Feld clenched the restraints in his hand, protectively taking up a defensive stance in front of Tom. Those restraints were going on over his dead body. "Even if he was being properly cared for, which I'm having trouble believing right now, four blood samples is really excessive."

"Excuse me, who are you?" Dr. Feld asked in as condescending a tone as possible.

"A concerned citizen who is familiar with hospital procedures," Russell replied with just as much condescension. Because he didn't want to come out and admit that he wasn't family, and he worried that identifying himself might cause trouble for Mariel. "I'm going to pretend that I didn't see you threaten a non-aggressive patient with a set of restraints and let you walk out of here. But if you try that again, I guarantee you that Mr. Underlay here will sue you for medical malpractice. And, in case you've forgotten hospital policies, it's the patient's right to refuse blood tests and any and all drug treatments. So you might want to lay off the sedation while you're at it." Russell could feel the hatred in Dr. Feld's stare as the doctor muttered something under his breath before storming out of the room. He returned the doctor's animosity with just as much loathing, relieved to have finally gotten that out of his system. "Are you okay?" He asked Tom as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"I don't believe I've ever seen a more impressive display of male testosterone," Tom shakily complimented Russell, slowly stretching out his cramped body from where he was pressed against the bedrail at his back. "I also wasn't aware that he was obligated to respect my wishes. Thanks, Russ."

Russell vaguely acknowledged that Tom had taken the liberty of giving him a nickname before he read between the lines of what the brunette had just said. "You mean you refused the blood sample before and he forced it on you anyway?"

"That and the sedation… and the biopsy." Tom unhappily leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes.

"What biopsy?! Why the hell would they need to take a biopsy?" When Tom lay there unresponsive, showing signs of stress and exhaustion, Russell got a good look at the purplish bruising all along Tom's forearms - both of them. Some of the needle marks were from drawing blood, others looked like they were from intravenous injections. But with what? And why? They looked horribly sore and administered either by an amateur or in haste. "Tom, what location did they take the biopsy from?"

"My abdomen. I'm not sure which hurt worse, the actual biopsy or the anesthetic," Tom replied, sounding ragged and defeated.

Russell watched those drained blue eyes gaze up at him again and felt his chest tighten. "If anyone tries to perform anymore unnecessary procedures on you, you call me and I'll deal with them." He pulled out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and withdrew his business card. His home phone number and cell phone number were included as emergency contact numbers so Tom could reach him at any hour.

Tom reached for the card but ended up grasping Russell's fingers instead when his trembling hand missed its target. "Sorry," he said in embarrassment, about to withdraw his hand because he just couldn't keep it steady.

But Russell caught Tom's hand in order to give him the card, closing his fingers over the slender ones in his grasp. "It's okay," he said reassuringly. He held on much longer than was necessary, leaning into Tom's personal space, not minding that the uncoordinated patient smelled like antiseptic and the generic soap that the hospital used to wash its laundry with. There was just something about Tom that was so magnetic, reeling him in like an electron latching onto a proton.

"Maybe not now, but it will be," Tom said quietly, as if he had set out a riddle for Russell to solve.

When Russell released Tom's hand, he found that he was the subject of a very thorough visual examination. While he had been following the lines of Tom's hospital gown out of the corner of his eye, appreciating whatever was inadvertently exposed to him, Tom had been unabashedly admiring the expanse of his chest and his bare arms. There was no other way to describe the way Tom was looking at him because it certainly wasn't a superficial glance. But as soon as Tom realized Russell was watching him, he averted his eyes almost shyly.

"Hey, do you want to go outside for a while? You could use some fresh air," Russell suggested. And maybe if they went outside they wouldn't have those two idiots from the transportation department – if that's where they were really from - gaping in the room every five minutes.

"Am I allowed to go outside?" Tom asked sarcastically.

"So long as you're in no danger of falling or catching a cold. Hold on, I'll get you a blanket and a wheelchair."

"Russ, I don't want to be seen outside in a wheelchair," Tom complained.

"Look, the only way the hospital will let you outside without the wheelchair is if you're capable of walking unassisted. Otherwise they can be held liable for any injuries you may sustain while on the premises. I seriously doubt you could make it to the door, never mind the courtyard," Russell inferred knowingly.

"Fine, go get the wheelchair," Tom relented with a sigh. "Anything to get out of this room and away from Dr. Feld."

It didn't take long for Russell to borrow a wheelchair from the nurse's station and a small blanket that was permissible to take outside. He pushed the wheelchair up to the bed and lowered the bedrail, then hesitated. If Tom couldn't get into the wheelchair by himself, he would have to help him into it. Helping him meant touching him, and Russell wasn't so sure if that was a good idea because his intentions weren't entirely pure. When the silence in the room became unbearable, Russell glanced over to see Tom looking miserable and frustrated.

"Maybe you should come back tomorrow," Tom said, his voice filled with dejection. "I can barely move…"

Of course he couldn't move. He'd been in a plane crash, drugged out of his mind, and deprived of his basic rights. And here Russell was worrying that he might have a reaction if he got too close to him. Sometimes he could be such a jerk. "Is it okay if I help you?" He asked, just to make sure.

"I don't want to trouble you…" But, Tom looked like he would do anything to be able to go outside. Even rely on the kindness of a total stranger.

"It's no trouble at all." Russell leaned over the bed and Tom reached out to take hold of his arm. But Russell had no intention of letting Tom tire himself out by trying to get over to that wheelchair. Ignoring Tom's outstretched arm, he reached over, slid his arms under Tom and lifted. The sudden tilt caused Tom to instinctively grab onto Russell's shoulders when the room spun, bringing them awfully close together. "There you go," Russell said triumphantly as he lowered Tom into the wheelchair, pretending that their proximity wasn't driving him nuts.

"Thanks," Tom said in an awestruck tone. "Either I've lost weight or you must be really strong."

"You could do with putting on a few pounds, but I'm used to doing a lot of lifting," Russell confessed, trying to sound modest about it. "You have to be strong to take on a job with the park." Okay, not so modest.

"I suppose you must move around a lot of soil and fertilizer," Tom surmised, predictably not knowing much about the range of duties a park ranger was responsible for, like most of the rest of the population.

Trying to keep a straight face, Russell got behind the wheelchair and steered it for the open door. "Well, that's a given, but those 40 pound sacks don't weigh anywhere near what an alligator does."

There was an astonished length of silence before Tom spoke again. "How much does an alligator weigh and why would you need to lift it?"

"At least four times as much as you do, and sometimes we need to relocate them, or tranquilize and tag them. But the alligators and crocodiles aren't as lethal as the pythons. There's been at least one incident of a python swallowing a croc whole! It didn't go over so well with the python's digestive tract though…"

"Uh… that's extremely fascinating information, Russ, but I think that I can't handle anymore details about wild animals digesting each other on an empty stomach."

"Sorry about that," Russell said apologetically, relieved that Tom couldn't see him smirking.

* * *

It was pleasantly sunny with a bit of a breeze out in the courtyard, and there weren't any other patients outside so early in the morning, so Tom had all the open space to himself.

Russell found a cozy looking spot over by a strip of bright yellow daffodils, with a fragrant rose bush off to one side of a wooden bench that had seen better days. He lined the wheelchair up with the bench and opened up the blanket, trying to shake out the sick patient smell before he covered Tom up with it. Tom didn't acknowledge the blanket because he was too preoccupied with his surroundings. Perhaps it was due to the fact that he hadn't been outside in natural light for days, but he seemed to be honing in four of his five senses on what he could absorb from his environment. Although he had to squint because his eyes were unaccustomed to the sunlight, he slowly surveyed every object within his visual range. From the way the daffodils bent and swayed in the gentle wind, to the individual blades of grass near Russell's sneakers. And even as Tom's eyes were drinking in colors and shapes, his ears were intently listening, his lips parting slightly in wonder when a mourning dove began to make a long, drawn-out cooing sound.

Russell sat down slowly on the bench beside Tom, enthralled by his companion's mystifying behavior. He watched Tom languidly inhale the air, smiling as he detected the sweet perfume of the rose bush that was beyond his field of vision. And then those slender fingers were grasping the arm of the bench, running along the worn and rotting wood, as if tracing the veins of the tree it had been cut from. For Russell, Tom himself was an attractive enigma, free from the confines of his hospital bed, and made even more beautiful by the gentle rays the sun cast on his face. Although lying in bed all day had flattened Tom's hair, making it appear simply brown, it was actually much brighter and blonder out in the light. His skin also looked a lot healthier, and his eyes a more vivid blue, framed by long eyelashes so fair that they looked translucent.

"Everything is so beautiful," Tom murmured, as if he had been transferred to a Utopia that only he could appreciate.

"Yeah… it sure is," Russell softly agreed, not taking his eyes off of Tom for a second. It took a trying amount of restraint for him not to take hold of Tom's hand to still his bizarre tactile appreciation of the grain in the wood.

"Were the colors always this extraordinary?"

That question had been spoken in such a low whisper that Russell had to strain to hear it. It hadn't been phrased to him, but he found himself curiously responding to it anyhow. "What do you mean? The colors of what?"

"Everything."

Tom's gaze gradually lifted from the pebble-lined path that he'd been focusing on to Russell's face, studying the park ranger just as overzealously as he had the petals of the tulips. Russell felt his fingers twitch under that enthusiastic gaze, not realizing what he had done until he felt the cool fingers in his grasp. This was definitely not one of his finest moments. He felt like he had crossed a barrier somehow, endangering the trust that he'd been building with Tom. What total moron went around touching hospital patients that they had only met the day before? And to top it all off, Tom was a patient who was still in mourning. But, as Russell watched Tom's cheeks become slightly flushed and his eyes flit nervously to the opposite end of the courtyard – probably checking to see if they were being observed – he realized that he only had two options. Either keep his hand where it was, making his intentions perfectly clear, or pull it away, which would leave Tom feeling confused and possibly rejected. Well, Russell had a habit of screwing things up but not of cowardly behavior, so he kept his hand where it was.

Amazingly, Tom did not try to pull his hand away, and after a few minutes, Russell's heartbeat froze when those intense blue eyes gazed into his light brown ones. "I didn't think that you'd visited me yesterday by some random coincidence," Tom said softly before looking away and appearing bashful. "But I didn't expect this…"

What was Russell going to do with this beautiful man and all his contradicting idiosyncrasies? Although highly introspective and quiet, the way Tom spoke and the words he chose seemed to hint at some higher meaning. While he had no trouble pointing out that he had already caught onto Russell's ulterior motives in visiting, he did so with a shyness that might have indicated reticence. And the way Tom practically devoured any incoming stimuli was enough to bewilder any psychologist. Russell also had no way of knowing if this was the way Tom usually acted, or if he had been profoundly affected by his life-altering close encounter with death.

"Knowing what to expect makes life kind of boring, doesn't it?" Russell challenged, turning over his hand, palm up, and giving Tom a suggestive look. The only way to be certain if Tom understood what was being offered was to force him to be the one to accept it.

"Life could never be boring," Tom countered, tentatively placing his hand into Russell's open one. When Russell entwined their fingers together, Tom smiled and followed the slow progress of a cluster of fluffy, white clouds as they parted in the sky. "Not with you in it, Russell," he added as an afterthought.

That had been a loaded comment if Russell had ever heard one. "Something tells me that you yourself have one hell of a lot to offer, Tom," Russell mused, enjoying the view, which didn't include anything other than Tom in it. He felt the fingers in his grasp begin to warm up, indicating that Tom's body temperature was most likely lower than normal due to a lack of circulation and an energy deficiency. It might not have bothered him so much if he hadn't been aware of the suspicious way that Tom was being treated at the hospital. Before his mind could begin to speculate on the possible reasons for Dr. Feld's obsession with Tom, he remembered his purpose in visiting today. "I brought you something." He squeezed Tom's hand and reluctantly let go so that he could open the paper bag that he'd set down beside him. "You look well enough to stomach some pudding and juice," he said as he produced the items that he'd picked up from a nearby café on his way over. "Unless you're allergic to milk… or eggs…?"

"I'm not, but that wouldn't stop me even if I were."

"Here, let me get it open for you." Russell ripped the seal off of the pudding and jabbed a plastic spoon into it before offering it to Tom who eagerly accepted the first real food he'd seen in over a week. As Tom dug into the pudding, savoring it spoonful by spoonful, Russell found himself distracted by movement out of the corner of his eye. When he turned to look over his shoulder, he was irritated to find those same two men from the transportation department smoking near a bed of lilacs a few feet away. His irritation quickly transformed into apprehension and then anger when he realized that both men were fixated on Tom, observing him as if they were cataloguing the way a specimen might act when introduced into a new environment.

* * *

 **Every review that you leave helps to support displaced hybrids in our solar system. Your kind feedback will make Tom really happy. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**Day 8: Morning**

For the first time since Tom had arrived at Homestead Memorial Regional Hospital, he woke up without feeling dizzy or nauseated, and free from the harassment of Dr. Feld. He'd been having nothing but drug-induced nightmares for the past few days, so it was a major relief to be able to slip from a meaningless jumble of harmless, dreamlike images into the comforting drone of reality.

It was still relatively early, so nurses padding up and down the halls in their sneakers, or a senior citizen calling out for assistance, was the extent of the activity that Tom could hear.

Tom rolled onto his side and pushed himself up onto one arm, experimentally seeing how much energy and strength he had to work with. Not much more than yesterday, but he felt a lot less disoriented, which was definitely a step in the right direction. As he shoved one of the pillows out of the way, it made a light rustling sound. Like it had brushed up against plastic. That was odd. Reaching underneath it, he felt a peculiar bulge inside the bottom of the pillow case. He rummaged around with his hand, discovering something in a plastic wrapper, a rectangular object, and a crumpled up piece of paper hidden inside the pillow case. Cautiously eyeing the deserted hallway outside his room, he pulled out an energy bar, a small juice box, and a hastily written note.

 _Tom,_

 _I didn't want to wake you up,_

 _and I don't know if that asshole is_

 _still trying to starve you,_

 _so I brought you breakfast._

 _Don't let them find the wrapper_

 _or the empty container._

 _Put both under the mattress_

 _I'll get them later._

 _Russell_

Tom felt warm inside as he reread the note before stuffing it under the mattress. He ripped open the energy bar and ate it ravenously, forcing himself to chew it properly so that it wouldn't upset his stomach. As the welcoming earthy flavor of granola ignited his sense of taste, he reached over to stroke his fingertip over the tiny petals of the wild petunia that Russell had given him. The soil and petals were damp, having obviously been watered by the park ranger on his way out.

What had Tom done to deserve meeting such a wonderfully caring and gentle man? Not only was Russell a bit of a romantic, but he also went out of his way to make sure that Tom would be taken care of in his absence. How early had Russell gotten up to be able to make the time to stop by the hospital before his long shift at the Glades? How many people were capable of such generosity and kindness? Even though they had just met, Tom couldn't shake off the eerie feeling of familiarity when around Russell. The absolute certainty that they were meant to be together. It wasn't so much a premonition as it was a gut feeling, like two pieces of a puzzle had just clicked into place on their own, making something that had once been broken whole again.

After Tom thirstily emptied the juice box, he crushed it and pushed it as far under the mattress as he could, on the far end of the bed. Feeling a lot better with something in his stomach, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, steeled himself with a few deep breaths, and pushed onto his feet. Of course being bedridden for so many days hadn't done his muscles or balance any favors, causing him to collapse weakly to the floor as his legs gave out on him. Still, he refused to touch that accursed call button or return to the bed. He would not give Dr. Feld an excuse to sedate him again.

For a few minutes, Tom sat huddled on the floor, drawing his legs close to his body and aggressively massaging them. Gradually, the numbness eased up enough for him to try again, grabbing onto the bed frame and pulling himself up off of the floor. His legs felt like rubber, not seeming to want to respond, but he persevered, not letting go of the bed until the ground stopped vibrating beneath his feet. Slowly, he dragged himself over to the washroom by the corner of his room, his bare feet not so agreeable with the cold hospital flooring. Once inside the washroom, he locked the door and silently congratulated himself on not getting caught.

Now all he had to do was brush his teeth so that there would be no evidence left of him having eaten, and freshen up a bit before one of the nurses ventured into the room to do it for him. One benefit of having a private room was the exceptionally large washroom with the attached showering area. There was a plastic chair built into the wall under it and railings to use for support. Tom figured that he was up for an unassisted shower, especially because he felt self-conscious now that he had a reason to want to appear decent. And that reason was none other than Russell Varon – the tall, broad shouldered, muscular, dark haired man with the kind brown eyes and mischievous smile. Just thinking about Russell made Tom feel both nervous and exhilarated at the same time.

Before the plane crash, Tom never would have admitted that he was attracted to men just as often as he was attracted to women. He had spent most of his adult life keeping his eyes to himself in locker rooms and public restrooms, and had never dared venture anywhere near a gay establishment. But that hadn't stopped him from feeling the occasional pull to the opposite side of the tracks, or prevented him from becoming unusually flustered when a good looking man happened to check him out. But meeting Russell and being lured in by his suave personality had nothing to do with experimenting or giving into his repressed urges. There was something inside of Tom that was screaming at him that Russell was _the one_. He'd never believed in love at first sight until that scruffy park ranger had walked into his hospital room with that lively little plant and had looked at him as if no one in else in the universe mattered. So, Tom felt quite pressured to make himself look a little more appealing for Russell to be around.

As morally degrading as hospital gowns were, they were very easy to shirk out of, and the pants were loose enough to kick off without a fuss. Within minutes, Tom was basking under the warm spray of the shower, delighting in the nearly silky feeling of the water running off his skin. He reached up to adjust the trajectory of the showerhead, catching the railing when he swayed dizzily for a moment. Once the dizziness had passed, he nudged the showerhead again in the opposite direction to make sure that the water wouldn't hit his injured chest. He then sat down on the plastic chair and helped himself to the shampoo from the dispenser on the shower wall, followed by the body soap, scrubbing his scalp and washing his body several times. Sometime during his fifth application of the body wash, he abruptly returned to his senses, realizing that something was amiss. It wasn't that he felt like he needed to cleanse himself that many times, rather the body wash was just an excuse for staying under the water for much longer than was necessary. Now the water was eerily charged with some kind of energy that felt like static, seeping into Tom's skin and electrifying his nerve endings. Water had never felt so sensational, or so devastatingly corruptive. How long had he been sitting there? When Tom realized that he had lost all concept of the time, he began to feel very unsettled. No longer enjoying the shower, Tom quickly stopped the water and grabbed onto the railing. It was then that he noticed that the hospital staff hadn't provided any towels for the shower. He was absolutely not going to press the call button to request any.

Showing how resourceful he was, Tom came close to emptying the paper towel supply in order to dry both his body and his hair, put his hospital garb back on, and hurriedly returned to his bed. Just in time to avoid being caught by Dr. Feld.

Tom pulled the bed sheets up to his neck, ensuring that his arms were completely covered and inaccessible, and feigned a sleepiness that he no longer felt.

"Mr. Underlay," Dr. Feld muttered as he stalked into the room, took out Tom's patient chart from the end of the bed, and flipped through it with disinterest. "And what did you and Mr. Varon have to talk about today?" He leveled his beady black eyes on Tom as he pulled out a pen and scribbled something down on the chart.

"Excuse me?" Tom was caught off guard because he hadn't thought that Russell had introduced himself to Dr. Feld, and because Russell's early morning visit was supposed to have been a secret.

"That's what we make the visitors sign in and out for, Mr. Underlay," Dr. Feld stated as he continued to scrutinize his patient. "So, I'll ask you again. What did you and Mr. Varon talk about today?"

Tom hesitated before answering. "I wasn't aware that he had visited. I just woke up the now."

Dr. Feld replaced the chart back into its slot and came to stand at the head of the bed. "Sit up," he ordered, completely doing away with any and all pretenses. He impatiently waited for Tom to struggle into a sitting position before he yanked both pillows away from him and began to shake them out onto the bed.

"What are you doing?" Tom asked in alarm.

"Searching for contraband. Because, while Mr. Varon may seem to think that he knows everything in that de-evolved brain of his, he is not the doctor. I am. You have been told not to eat anything, and that includes sandwiches, fruits, and things like _pudding_."

"Why am I not allowed to eat anything? I feel much better now… and I have an appetite…"

"You will receive all your nutrition and fluid requirements through an IV drip that will take place between the hours of noon and three o'clock today. Anything that you consume in addition to that may have an adverse effect on your compromised immune system."

"My compromised immune system…?" Tom repeated in bewilderment.

"Your test results have revealed several disturbing anomalies. Failing to heed your physician's advice will only serve to complicate your condition."

Tom began to feel frightened when Dr. Feld tore the bed sheets away from him and tossed them onto the floor, becoming more aggressive as he scanned the bed area for any signs of crumbs or evidence of any sort. Were doctors allowed to act this volatile in front of their patients? Especially ones who had just been released from the ICU and were sensitive to such extreme behavior? "Oww!" Tom yelped and turned to glare at Dr. Feld when the older man shoved his legs out of the way to search under them. But the doctor gave no indication that he cared he had hurt Tom and grabbed for his patient's hands next. "Stop being so rough," Tom protested angrily, beginning to struggle against him.

"You keep that up and I will restrain you," Dr. Feld said coldly, prying Tom's hands open to ensure that he wasn't concealing anything in them. He seemed dissatisfied when he wasn't able to find anything. "What you are failing to understand, Mr. Underlay, is that there are higher powers at play here. Powers that you don't want to mess with. If you insist on refusing to cooperate, I will have you thrown into quarantine so fast it will make your head spin."

Tom started when Dr. Feld grabbed hold of the back of his gown and tore it open, and then flinched when the cold metal of a stethoscope pressed up against his bare back. He immediately began to tremble, feeling violated by the doctor's abusive methods and scare tactics.

"Breathe in," Dr. Feld commanded, swearing when his patient just sat there shivering. "I said, _breathe in_ ," he repeated, emphasizing the order by grabbing Tom hard by his shoulder and pulling him backwards.

Tom forced himself to inhale, keeping his eyes downcast and trying to will the trembling to stop.

"Breathe out." Dr. Feld didn't praise Tom on his obedience, paying more attention to the sound of his patient's frantic heartbeat. "Now lie down so that I can change your dressing."

"No," Tom refused, his voice laced with fear. "I want another doctor to do it."

Dr. Feld gritted his teeth and seized Tom by his upper arm, yanking him in close so that he could really terrorize his helpless patient. "You see those two men out there?"

Tom bit into his lower lip to keep silent, not able to fight Dr. Feld, but also not wanting to lose control in front of him. He followed Dr. Feld's wildly gesturing arm, noticing the two men from the transportation department standing outside in the hallway. Their expressions were very different from what they had been on the previous days Tom had seen them. They were no longer pretending to be impartial bystanders in the background. Today they looked like merciless, cold-hearted torturers who were just begging for a reason to be called into Tom's room.

"I know that you don't think they're from the transportation department, and you're right, they're not. If I have to call them in here, you will be very sorry, Mr. Underlay. Very sorry, indeed."

"Why are you doing this to me?" Tom asked, his voice breaking when he was shoved onto his back and the gown pulled away from his body. "Are you trying to punish me for being the only one to survive that plane crash? Is that it? Or is it because you can't accept the miraculous way I was spared from fate? Perhaps the explanation for my survival goes beyond the comprehension of your ill-gained PhD!"

"Miraculous? I think not. What we are mainly concerned with, Mr. Underlay, is why you are not dead. And we will continue to conduct as many tests as we see fit until we are able to reach a logical conclusion. You see, it was scientifically impossible for you to have survived that plane crash when all the other passengers were killed immediately on impact. Even your wife who was sitting in the window seat beside you, and the man who had the aisle seat on your other side, were killed instantly in the crash. But not you. You – one man out of one hundred and thirty-six – not only landed in the water, but managed to survive for over twenty-four hours exposed to the elements. Yes, you did sustain injuries, but _this_ ," he tapped the bandages covering Tom's chest on a diagonal slant downwards, "is very minor when compared to the carnage that your fellow passengers became. You, Mr. Underlay, are something of a freak of nature." After a brief pause, Dr. Feld glared at Tom. "Why are these bandages wet?"

"I had an accident with the water pitcher," Tom immediately lied, not wanting Dr. Feld to know that he possessed the strength to take a shower on his own. Because after he was done with this humiliating encounter, he promised himself that he would be leaving the hospital of his own free will. Dr. Feld scared him and made him feel like he was nothing more than a lab rat to be pricked, and prodded, and pushed to his limitations.

"There's no such thing as an accident, Mr. Underlay." Dr. Feld raked his fingers through Tom's still damp hair, giving him a dirty look that said he could not be deceived or lied to.

Tom couldn't prevent himself from crying out when Dr. Feld unceremoniously pulled off the bloody bandages in one tearing motion, dropping them onto the floor next to the discarded sheets. He then ran his fingers over the length of stitches starting at the center of Tom's breastbone and ending along the right side of his ribcage. When Tom tried to escape Dr. Feld's abhorred treatment, he was held down with one hand on his chest, panicking when the tip of a syringe entered his peripheral vision. "No, don't!" He struggled harder, tears stinging the corners of his eyes.

"I think this kind of aggressive behavior justifies the use of sedation, wouldn't you agree?" Dr. Feld continued to restrain Tom with the one hand and cruelly jabbed the business end of the syringe into his patient's arm with the other. He injected the sedative into Tom almost gleefully, as if having full control over his patients was the only thing that gave him pleasure. As Tom felt the world slip away from him, he heard Dr. Feld speaking to another man who had entered the room. "I had him under constant sedation until some man by the name of Russell Varon interfered yesterday."

" _I'm not interested in your excuses, Doctor. You owe me a blood sample and an updated progress report."_

Everything became blurry and played in slow motion as Tom began to lose his tenuous grip on consciousness.

"You don't seem to understand. This Varon character might actually be a threat. He came in here reciting hospital policies and patient rights."

" _Russell Varon is nothing but an underpaid, overworked park ranger with a limited education. You're being paid well for your troubles, Doctor. Surely you can handle a meddling, brainless twit of a man like Varon. What is he to Underlay anyway, a family friend?"_

"We're not sure…"

" _Don't make me repeat myself, Doctor. The blood sample!"_

"What exactly are you looking for? All his test results have come back negative…"

Tom sank into the mattress, all the energy escaping him as his breathing slowed and his mind went blank. The last sensation that he could recall before he faded away was the touch of a hand on his brow, much like a man might stroke his dog, and the unnerving buzz of electricity that surrounded it.

* * *

 **Every review for this chapter goes towards torturing Dr. Feld, so it's for a good cause. ;)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Day 8: Afternoon**

Getting through an afternoon in the Glades required an adequate supply of water, a change of clothing, and a heck of a lot of antiperspirant. While most people in the city would be sipping at their 500ml bottles of water throughout the day, Russell would be chugging down a liter at regular intervals.

They were understaffed today so Russell was performing the duties for two people, lugging away sections of trees that had been felled by the crashed plane, testing the water alkalinity, capturing a stray dog that had wandered too close to the alligator pond, and transplanting some of the aquatic plant life from one area of the park to another. By the time he was relieved for lunch, he was saturated in sweat, heaving like an overworked mule, and dying of thirst. He'd been working for six hours with no break and was just getting to eat at three o'clock. Thankfully he'd had the foresight to pack himself some of those energy bars, much like the one he had left with Tom, or else he would have passed out hours ago.

"You sure can eat," Russell's coworker, Mona Gomez, whistled as she led the stray dog into Ranger Station 4, past Russell's feast, and into the back where the kennels were. When she reappeared, she caught Russell making short work of sandwich number three, which he seemed to be breathing in. "Hey, slow down," she laughed. "You have another half hour for your break."

"Yeah, I know, but I was thinking of cutting it short so I can leave a bit early today."

"Oh? You have somewhere you need to be?" She rolled her eyes when Russell ignored her for teasing him. "What? I can't ask? It's not like you're going home to Mariel."

"Nope. Signed the papers for that this morning. You're looking at a newly divorced man, Mona." Russell finished wolfing down his lunch and wiped his hands off on his jeans. He pulled his short sleeved ranger shirt back on over his t-shirt, but didn't bother to button it up.

"I thought that you usually change your shirt halfway through."

"Not today. I'm saving it for later."

"Saving it for who?"

Russell grinned as he picked up the keys to his truck and cleared off the table that he'd been eating at. The table that they usually used for dissecting animals when they were performing necropsies. "Get back to work, Mona." He was about to switch his cell phone back to manner mode and jam it into his back pocket when it began to ring.

"Your girlfriend's calling," Mona joked, trudging back outside to prep the air boat for another trip through the marshes.

On any regular day, Russell would have chosen to ignore a number that he wasn't familiar with. What with the telemarketers and wrong numbers, he had had enough of telling people where to go over the phone. But he had been checking his cell phone off and on since he'd started work that morning, hoping that he might get a phone call from Tom. He hoped that Tom had found the small snack that he'd left and had been able to eat it in private. Because he seriously doubted that Dr. Feld had any intention of putting Tom back on a regular diet any time soon. Whatever the doctor was trying to pull, Russell wasn't going to sit back and tolerate it.

"Hello?" He put the phone to his ear and listened, but all he could hear was faint breathing in the background. Great! He'd just been suckered into answering the phone to his first crank caller of the week. "Hello!" He repeated, opting to give the caller the benefit of the doubt. Strangely enough, he heard what sounded like an announcement in the background.

" _Doctor Turner, please pick up line two. Doctor Turner, you have a call on line two."_

Russell clutched the phone closer to his ear and listened harder. He could barely hear someone breathing softly but rapidly on the other end. "Tom?"

" _Russell…hi. Are you busy?"_

It sounded like Tom was having difficulty breathing or was upset because his speech sounded too low and impaired. "No, I'm on my break now. Is everything okay?" When Russell heard what sounded like sniffling on the other end, followed by a sharp intake of breath, he tensed up. "Tom…?"

" _I just wanted to thank you for the granola bar and the juice…"_

Although Russell hadn't known Tom for long, he could tell that something was off about this telephone conversation. "Tom, is something wrong?" He asked gently. There was a pause on the other end, and then a heavy sigh.

" _Are you going to visit later?"_

"Didn't you get my note?"

" _I did but… it wasn't specific."_

"You sound upset. Did something happen?"

" _When you come, can you please get me a self discharge form from the front desk? I asked the staff here but… no one would give it to me."_

There was definitely something wrong. "Tom, what happened? You're in no condition to leave the hospital on your own. You could get hurt…"

" _If I stay here… I am going to get hurt."_

Russell's expression constricted upon hearing the fear in Tom's voice. He motioned for Mona to stop when she came back in and grabbed an armful of plants, about to go out again to start up the air boat. "It's that doctor again, isn't it? Listen, Tom, I'm leaving work now. I'll be over there in around thirty minutes… _with_ the form that you asked for. Can you hang on until then?"

" _I'll try. Thanks, Russ."_

Then the line went dead. "Dammit!" Russell pocketed his phone and took his ranger jacket off again, tossing his sweaty t-shirt on top of it. Damn that mean-spirited doctor and his callous attitude. What had he done to Tom this time? It had to have been something genuinely upsetting for Tom to have made a phone call like that to someone he barely knew anything about.

"This is not the men's locker room, Varon," Mona said in mild disgust.

"Mona, can you cover for me for the rest of the afternoon? I have an emergency that just came up." Russell dug into his backpack that was sitting on a nearby chair, pulled out his deodorant and reapplied it. Then he changed into the grey t-shirt that he'd been saving for later on.

"Do you have any idea how many plants there are here?"

"I'll owe you big. Seriously, I need to go."

"You're going to owe me a double shift for this, Russell." Mona sighed and watched her coworker race out of the ranger station, jump into an Everglades National Park truck and kick up dirt as he peeled off down the trail.

* * *

When Russell reached the hospital, he strode right to the front desk and ran straight into Mariel, who was distractedly walking down the hall with her face in a chart.

"Oh! Sorry!" Mariel exclaimed, before realizing whose feet she had stepped on. "Russell, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at work?" She tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear, straightened up, and stared at him in confusion.

"Yeah, but something came up. Could you do me a favor and get me a self discharge release form?"

A moment ago, Mariel had been lost in whatever information she'd been absorbing, but now her ex-husband had her full attention. Dropping the chart out of sight, she tried to figure out what he was up to. "For what patient? The self discharge of a patient form needs to be filled out first."

"What's that one for?"

"It's for the attending doctor to assess the mental capacity of the patient. Basically to decide whether or not the patient is capable of understanding his condition and making informed decisions, like deciding to leave the hospital against the physician's medical advice."

Russell not only distrusted Dr. Feld, but he was also beginning to hate him for the unjustified way he was treating Tom. If he had to rely on Dr. Feld to assess Tom's mental capacity, he might as well just leave the form at the front desk and not even bother. Whatever Dr. Feld's reasons, he seemed to be determined to keep Tom in the hospital and incapacitated for as long as possible. How far was he willing to go in order to confine Tom against his will? Russell did not want to find out.

"Can't you fill it out?"

Now Mariel was looking at him suspiciously. "That depends… You still haven't told me the patient's name. I hope you're not referring to a patient who has been sectioned."

Thankfully, Tom was not being detained against his will under the Mental Health Act, but Dr. Feld might resort to that if given the time to pull it off. "No. I want to get Tom Underlay out of here. This afternoon."

Mariel grabbed Russell by the arm and pulled him close while lowering her voice. "You didn't mention that you knew Tom Underlay."

"It kind of just happened recently." Russell also began to whisper, keeping an eye out for either Dr. Feld or the suspicious men who were shadowing Tom around the hospital. "Look, Mariel, something is really off about the way Tom is being treated here. Dr. Feld is trying to keep him sedated against his will and is performing all these unnecessary tests on him. I don't know if it's a conspiracy or a cover-up, but Tom wants out of here and I'm going to help him."

"You're right that something is going on with Underlay, but I don't know if it's something you want to get involved in. They're restricting which members of staff have access to his room and he's been assigned to Dr. Feld, exclusively. There are also strange men lurking around his room who are exempt from signing in or identifying themselves. Then there are the blood tests… For some bizarre reason, his blood samples are being sent to a private lab to be analyzed."

"That's exactly why I need to get him out of here. Will you help me?"

Mariel glanced down the hall to make sure that they were still alone before studying the urgent look on Russell's face. "I can't make any promises. I'll talk to him and assess whether he's mentally competent… If he is, and I do fill out that form, you'd better be prepared to take full responsibility for it. If Dr. Feld asks me about it, I'm not going to let on that I know anything about any conspiracy or whatnot, or else it'll be my job on the line. I'm just going to say that you took him out of here against my medical advice."

"That's fine by me. Do whatever you have to do."

Russell followed Mariel down to Tom's room where it was completely dark. Despite it still being mid-afternoon, all the lights were off and there wasn't a nurse in sight. Mariel turned on the light, the yellowish glow illuminating Tom sleeping in the bed.

"Tom?" Russell neared the bed and placed a hand on Tom's shoulder, which caused the brunette to flinch. He was met with two dazed blue eyes for a second, before Tom's eyelids slid shut again. "Shit! That bastard sedated him again!"

"Keep your voice down," Mariel shushed him, beginning to check Tom's vital signs. She frowned when she noticed the fresh needle marks on Tom's arms, along with random bruising that seemed to be associated with someone holding him down. "Russell… I don't think I can do this."

"Why not? We can wake him and get him to answer your questions."

"That's not what I meant. I'm obligated to file a report if I suspect abusive conduct towards a patient. This more than qualifies."

"Russell," Tom murmured, struggling to respond to Russell's voice.

"I'm here, Tom." Russell took Tom's hand and held it reassuringly. "This is Mariel. She's going to help you, okay? She's going to file a report against that son-of-a-bitch Dr. Feld. He won't be able to come near you again." Or hurt you again, Russell angrily wanted to add.

"No… please… get me out of here. There's another man… a dangerous man…" Tom attempted to sit up, using all his willpower to fight against the freshly administered sedative that was dulling his mind and restricting his body.

Russell wrapped an arm around Tom's back and helped him to sit up. Tom felt cold and shivery against him, so he pulled him closer in an attempt to warm him up. "What dangerous man?"

"They're all involved. Dr. Feld… those men from the… transportation… department…" Tom gasped, running out of breath, and then began to cough. Mariel was immediately at his side, offering him a glass of water, and pulling out her stethoscope to check his breathing.

"Just relax and take a deep breath," Mariel said soothingly, trying to get Tom to calm down. Unlike Dr. Feld, Mariel's bedside manner was actually pleasant, and she only needed to slip the stethoscope through the back of the gown to listen to his lungs. "Everything sounds okay. When was the last time you drank anything?"

Tom shot Russell a panicked look, which Russell immediately interpreted as the brunette not knowing whether or not he could trust Mariel. "It's okay, Tom. Just answer the question."

"I drank the juice you left me."

"I gave you that juice this morning. What have you drunk since then?" Russell had dropped off that juice over seven hours ago. That couldn't be the only thing that Tom had drunk all day.

"Nothing."

That was when Mariel and Russell noticed that Tom was not drinking from the glass that he'd been given.

"You have to drink something," Russell said in frustration, unable to hide the concern in his voice. "Especially if that asshole took more blood samples from you without your consent."

"Dr. Feld put something… in the… water."

Russell snatched the glass out of Tom's hands, and slammed it down onto the bedside table. "Mariel, can you please fill out that form now? We don't know how many people are involved in this or what they want with Tom. If someone higher up is involved, reporting Dr. Feld could just put Tom in more danger. Look at what he's already done to him." Russell furiously gestured at the bruises covering Tom's arms, looking like he might not be able to restrain himself if Dr. Feld were to walk in the room now.

Although their marriage hadn't worked out, Russell and Mariel had no problem working together when it involved something they felt mutually strong about. In this case, finding evidence of patient abuse had been enough to sway Mariel's opinion to side with Russell. She held out her clipboard with the attached form and sat beside Tom to go over the details with him.

"Russell, do you have any clothing you can lend Tom? His sister-in-law brought his daughter in for a visit yesterday afternoon, but she didn't bring any of his personal items."

"His daughter?" Russell repeated in surprise.

"Kira," Tom said softly, smiling despite how horrible he felt.

Mariel smiled as well, remembering the little girl with the big grayish-green eyes and long brown hair. "She's a really cute, little girl. So polite."

Filing that information away for later, Russell fished his car keys out of his pocket. "I have a spare pair of jeans in my truck, but that's about it." He hurried out to his truck to get them, wondering what he was going to do about the shirt.

By the time Russell got back to the room, Mariel had finished filling out the form and had moved onto the self discharge release form, which she got Tom to sign and date.

"All done," Mariel announced encouragingly, hoping to get Tom to relax a little. But it didn't seem like he would be able to do so until he was outside and as far away from the hospital as possible. He looked pretty awful, worse than he had two days ago, and was barely holding it together. She worried that he might pass out before they succeeded in getting him out of the hospital.

Russell placed the folded pair of jeans into Tom's lap and then pulled off the t-shirt he was wearing, dropping it on top of them. Mariel just about had a fit when she saw him do that.

"You're not really going to walk through the hospital like that, are you?! I'll never be able to live it down if someone sees you."

"I have another shirt. It's just a little damp." Russell pulled on the shirt that he'd been wearing earlier, catching Tom admiring his muscular physique before the brunette quickly dropped his gaze.

"Damp with what?" Mariel made a face and tried not to get too close to her ex-husband and his sweat-drenched t-shirt. "We'll give you a few minutes to get dressed, okay, Tom?"

"Thank you." Tom blinked back the sleep from his eyes and began to pull off the hospital gown as soon as he had the room to himself.

Outside in the hall, Mariel paced back and forth nervously, probably hoping that she had made the right decision. "Where are you going to take him, Russell? He doesn't have any relatives living in Homestead and his deceased wife's sister doesn't seem to want to have anything to do with him. She only brought Kira to visit but didn't come in herself. While I agree that it's best to get him out of this environment, I'm worried that he might have an accident if left alone."

"So I'll stay with him tonight. He lives at a fixed address, doesn't he? And he probably won't want to be alone after all that's happened anyway."

"What makes you so sure he's going to want you to stay with him?" Mariel asked skeptically. "Dr. Feld left him with some pretty understandable trust issues. And you still haven't told me where you know Tom from. I don't think that he runs in the same circles as you do."

"This is going to sound completely ridiculous, but I saw him in the ICU the other day and felt sorry for him. So, I visited him… and we hit it off… and…" Russell trailed off guiltily.

"Oh my God! I don't know what is more disgusting, Russell. The fact that you hit on a patient who just survived a plane crash, or the fact that you lied to me about being into men when I asked you all those years ago, after I found gay porn in the history folder on the computer."

"Who asked you to go through the history folder?! At least I never cheated on you," Russell shot back. "As soon as we got all the papers drawn up for our divorce, you brought up this mystery man that you've been seeing for – I'm sorry, how long have you been seeing him?"

"Just two weeks. It's not that much of an overlap. And at least he's not married."

"Neither is Tom."

Mariel groaned in exasperation. "You're right. He's recently widowed. His wife was killed in a plane crash. Last week," she enunciated very slowly and clearly, as if she were talking to a complete fool. "I don't think that he's ready to get into another relationship, or to suddenly decide that he's gay."

"That's not the feeling I was getting off of him yesterday. Of course it sucks that his wife died. It's horrible and I can't even begin to imagine what he's going through. But there's just something about him - something really _positive_. He wants to move on and live his life. And he wants to do that with me."

"You're out of your mind," Mariel said, sounding less amused now. "You know nothing about this guy. Absolutely nothing. And he knows nothing about you. But you're making it sound like you two have already exchanged vows."

"Stranger things have happened," Russell said flippantly.

"Be careful with rebound relationships, Russell. They never end well."

"I hope you're going to take your own advice," he snapped at her. Thinking that Tom had been given enough time to change, he placed his hand on the doorknob, and paused. "Look, we're divorced now. And we won't have to live together for much longer. So let's try to stop judging each other and just live our separate lives. Fighting is for married couples."

Mariel inclined her head in agreement. "I'll try if you'll try. Oh, and Russell?"

"What?"

"Be careful," she warned.

* * *

All reviews are returned with cyber hugs and lucky hybrids. :)


	8. Chapter 8

For several reasons, one of which is the error messages I keep getting on this site (and reviews no longer being posted or review notices not being mailed) I've decided to switch over to Archive of our Own. If you're interesting in reading the continuation to this story, or more Invasion fics, please go to Archive of our Own and type in Twilight Fang. This site won't allow me to post direct links. :(


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